The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,100
Francis staged a rip-roaring lover’s quarrel—the kind Danny didn’t imagine could possibly be louder or more animated than it was between an Italian woman and an Irishman—until members of polite society decided perhaps they could come back later.
By the time night had well and truly fallen, every drop of smuggled alcohol had been offloaded. The marina was in better shape than it probably had been for a while too, so Danny let that appease the part of his conscience that still sometimes wondered about making his living this way.
There was far too much for them to carry back to Manhattan in one trip, even divided between three trucks, so the bulk of the shipment was hidden in an abandoned barn not far from the marina. Each vehicle was loaded with enough to make Carmine happy, and Danny had in his pocket a list of everything that had been stashed. Carmine would definitely be pleased.
Though if he smiles at me like that now that I know what his mouth feels like…
Danny shivered. None of the crew noticed, thank the Lord, and they all climbed into their respective vehicles. While Bernard drove, Danny took the passenger seat, and Francis and Giulia sat in the truck bed. Giulia nestled against Francis’s side, his arm around her shoulders and her overcoat pulled tight against the wind. Danny rolled his eyes. Once the pair of them had started flirting that first day, there’d been nothing he could do to talk sense into Francis. Fine. If Carmine ever found out, Francis could explain himself. Danny might take Carmine’s fury for having Giulia running with them, but everything those two got up to whenever they had a spare moment? Francis could answer for that.
Just don’t spoil what I’ve got with her brother, you bastard.
“I still can’t believe Tommy’s plan worked.” Bernard shook his head as he steered the truck onto the narrow road. “They didn’t even question us.”
“Of course they didn’t,” Francis called from the back. “Far as they knew, we were a bunch of rich bastards whose boat was broken down.”
“He’s got a point,” Danny said. “If I was one of those Coasties, I wouldn’t want to be the one that searched a rich asshole’s yacht and got his captain called for accusing him of being a rum runner.”
Bernard grunted. “All right, I suppose I can’t argue with that.” He paused, then shifted back to his usual terse, skeptical tone. “But we can’t do that often. They’ll start getting suspicious.”
“And they’ll start searching all the rich assholes.” Francis laughed. “Don’t think that’ll last long.”
“Maybe we should save it for the hotter months, then,” Danny said. “As the weather gets better and there’s more rich bastards out there to hide amongst.”
Bernard shook his head. “Except if they’re out there, then they’ll notice if we’re stealing their damn boats. Phony papers will convince the Coast Guard and the police, but not the bastards whose boats we’re taking.”
“Aye, but by then, we’ll be able to afford to buy our own.”
“And use the same boat every time?” Bernard grumbled. “And anyhow, didn’t Battaglia tell us not to buy things like that? Not draw attention to all this money we’re making?”
“Bluenose,” Danny muttered, earning him a smack to the arm.
“Carmine can get you a boat like that.” Giulia laughed. “He’s been wanting to buy one anyhow.”
Bernard and Danny exchanged glances and both shrugged. If Carmine bought something big and ostentatious, at least no one would accuse them of stealing it.
While Francis and Giulia flirted and did Lord only knew what in the back of the truck, Bernard kept driving between dark and tranquil farms, following the winding road that would eventually take them back to Manhattan. As his friend drove, Danny thought about today’s run, and some of the other wild ideas they’d somehow executed. Sometimes he wondered if they should stick to straightforward rum running and cargo hijacking. It was safer than taking the risks that came with their more harebrained plans.
But what could he say? The wilder plans were fun. They had him and his boys lounging for hours in the backroom of Daisy’s night after night, coming up with crazier ways to lift booze and sneak it right under the Coast Guard’s nose. And each time he thought that maybe they should play it safer for a while, they’d pull off a job like today and come away with a score that would have Carmine handing over thick stacks of cash. It was tough to talk himself out